As You Wish (4 page)

When I finish, I feel both stupid and relieved. Surely Lawrence won't think I'm as insane as I feel. Though I guess I can't blame him if he does.

Lawrence kneels down beside me. “So…like a genie. You accidentally summoned a jinn?”

“Right. But now Jinn won't leave me alone till I wish.”

“My name isn't Jinn, you know. That's like me calling you
Human
,” the jinn says.

I don't answer. Instead, I look past him, staring at Ollie's tattoo through the open doorway to avoid looking at Jinn or Lawrence. Lawrence puts his fingers to my cheek and guides my gaze back to him. My throat tightens, like it does whenever Lawrence touches me like this. I pull away from his hand.

“So, why not just make some wishes so he leaves you alone?”
Lawrence asks. He still doesn't believe me—he's talking to me like an adult talks to an imaginative toddler.

“Wow. This guy, I like,” Jinn says, moving away from the doorway and dropping down on my left, opposite Lawrence. “Listen to him, mas—er, Viola,” he corrects himself. I sigh and look back to Lawrence.

“It's not that easy!” I snap.

“Sure it is. Just wish that Ollie was your best friend or something,” Jinn says, peering at Ollie through the closet door.

“Shut up,” I hiss.

“I didn't say anything!” Lawrence answers.

I feel my cheeks turn red.

“Oh. Talking to Jinn. I see,” Lawrence says. I want to crumble—there's doubt in his voice, and it makes me feel as alone and scared as I did when we broke up.

“Lawrence! I'm serious!” I cry out. Lawrence takes my hand apologetically.

“No, no, I'm sorry. It's just…I mean, how can you be sixteen years old and have no idea what to wish for?” Lawrence
asks, running a thumb over my hand.

“Exactly!” Jinn shouts. I ignore him and am about to speak when Lawrence jumps up. He takes several shaky steps backward, staring over my head, his mouth hanging open. I look at Lawrence for a moment before realizing that he's staring at Jinn, who is now slowly standing.

“He's…real…” Lawrence chokes on his words.

I exhale and nod. At least now Lawrence is crazy with me. Lawrence takes a half step forward and extends a hand to poke Jinn's shoulder. When his fingers make contact with Jinn's skin, Lawrence jumps. Jinn shrugs and gives yet another annoyed look—he has a lot of them, I've noticed.

“Wait, how come he can see you now?” I ask, rising from the stepladder.

“I
can
be seen by anyone, if I want to. I'm just not supposed to. It breaks the second protocol. But I sort of thought showing myself to him would get you to wish faster, so I could return to Caliban quicker, which is the
third
protocol…but somehow now I doubt he'll be any help.” Jinn tilts his head toward
Lawrence, who pokes him in the shoulder again.

“A jinn. You just…wishes…and…,” Lawrence murmurs.

I nod. “I didn't mean to. Apparently one strong wish will do it.”

“Well.” Lawrence swallows hard and extends a hand to Jinn. “Good to meet you, then…Jinn.” Jinn gives Lawrence a defeated look, then clasps his outstretched palm.

“Right. Think you can make her wish?” Jinn asks, nodding toward me.

“Good luck with that,” Lawrence responds, grinning.

I roll my eyes at both of them and leave the supply closet. They follow me just as the bell rings, Lawrence still giving Jinn amazed looks. Aaron is helping Ollie shove paints into a drawer, but looks up when we reemerge.

“Lawrence, by the way—I'm having a party tomorrow night,” Aaron calls across the room.

“What's the occasion?” Lawrence asks, his voice strained from trying to ignore Jinn.

“It's…uh…it's Saturday?” Aaron grins. Ollie laughs and
Lawrence nods. “You'll be there, right?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Lawrence answers. Aaron turns to me.

“Viola, you should come,” he says.

I should come. I'm invited. My first instinct is to mutter no—I don't belong with the Royal Family. My lips part to make up a lame excuse about visiting my grandmother or something. But then Jinn steps into my line of sight, one eyebrow raised and an amused expression on his face.

I hate that expression. I want to show that expression that I don't need to wish in order to belong anywhere. Here I am, getting invited to a party—I can have friends on my own, without the hair or clothes or shoes, without a wish. I just have to say yes.

I just have to have the guts to go.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. I repeat myself, louder. “Yeah. I'll go. Thanks for inviting me.”

Take that, genie-boy.

I WATCH VIOLA
opening packets of food that I'm very grateful don't exist in Caliban. How can an entire meal be microwaveable? No wonder these humans age. Consuming things like that probably takes five years off your life instantly.

Another day of my life is gone, without so much as a hint that Viola will wish anytime soon. I'm a
good
jinn. I grant wishes well—I don't play with the wording, don't trick my masters. I keep it simple. I try to give them what they really want. And this is my reward—sitting in my master's kitchen, because she's decided that not knowing where I am “creeps her out.”

Mortals.

“Do you eat?”

I look over my shoulder at her. She's changed again—her skin is slightly different, and her fingernails are the tiniest bit longer. I scan the room to see who she's speaking to, but there's no one.

“Yes? No? Jinn?” she asks.

“Me?”

She nods. “Eat. You know, as in food? As in, would you like me to make you a Hot Pocket while I'm fixing one for myself?”

“I, er, no. I mean, I eat in Caliban. And I sleep there. I just…not here.”

I've never heard of a master offering to cook for his or her jinn before. It's just not done. Does it break the first protocol, about respecting one's master? I'm not sure…I really should start carrying that
Pocket Guide of Jinn Protocol
around with me. How much trouble am I already in with the Ancients? They aren't exactly known for being lenient. I wonder if it's a problem that she's calling me Jinn. I have to admit, it's nicer to hear than “Hey, you!”

She shrugs and breezes past me to the living room, “food” and a canned drink in hand. I follow—normally, I'd wait for the order to do so, but since she rarely gives them, I've gotten used to assuming what she wants. She collapses onto the couch and grabs a pad of scribbled-on paper from the coffee table. I lower myself into an old armchair on the opposite side of the room, grimacing at the scent of aged leather. Everything in this place reminds me of time.

She stares at the paper blankly.

Being mortal must be terribly boring.

“It's my speech. For the Expo next week,” she says, glancing up at me. “We have to talk about our paintings. How stupid is that? Isn't the point of paintings that they say what you don't want to say aloud?”

“I thought the point of paintings was being passionate,” I reply, leaning back when Viola changes again. Her hair got a little longer, perhaps, or her eyes a little darker. It's difficult to pinpoint.

She laughs, so casually that it startles me. Masters don't…
laugh
at things I say. They make wishes. I
grant them. Then I go home.

“Here,” she says, and tosses me the television remote.

“Um, thanks.” Masters definitely don't invite jinn to watch television with them.

My thoughts wander as I hit the
POWER
button, memories of Caliban flowing through my head. Mostly of me sitting in my apartment, watching the flower-lined streets and the green and silver city below—half metropolis, half garden, but all glittering and brilliant. My apartment was smaller, but it had a wide balcony that overlooked the sparkling city below and the mountains on the horizon—nothing like the cramped, musty apartments I've seen in this world. I close my eyes and remember walking in parks of flowering hyacinths and snapdragons, eating curried vegetables and jasmine rice, gazing at the lights of the skyline….

Sigh. I have to stop lingering on thoughts of home. It's only making me feel worse. I open my eyes and look to the television. A familiar face appears on the screen.

“Hey! I know him! He's one of my former masters.”

Viola looks up from her paper. “Who?”

“The guy in the long coat. He knew all his wishes right away. I was back to Caliban in twenty minutes.” I don't remember his name—in fact, come to think of it, I've never known a master's name before now.

Viola's eyes widen and she blinks at the screen. “Keanu Reeves?” she asks in amazement.

I nod.

“What did he wish for?”

“Isn't it obvious?” I say, waving a hand at the screen. “Fame.”

“That's
why he's famous? Because of a wish?”

“Have you seen his movies? Surely you didn't think he made it on
his
acting skills?” I grant wishes; I don't work miracles.

Viola looks back at the screen, eyes screwed up in awe. “I guess that makes sense,” she says faintly as my former master delivers a line poorly. “Wow.”

“I tried to convince him to wish to be a good actor instead of wishing to be a famous actor but he said good actors don't always become famous,” I add.

Viola changes again. “What other wishes have you granted?”

Her direct question pulls at me, but it's not overpowering; she's just asking, not demanding an answer.
A nice change from most masters,
I think, before I respond, “Just your standard things, mostly. Money, success, love. I brought a dog back from the dead once for this woman, that was interesting—strange wish, I thought, but it made her really happy. I shouldn't be telling you this either. First protocol, I think. But, hey, maybe revealing their wishes will give you some ideas.”

“You brought a dog back?” Viola asks. “That's…that's a wonderful wish.”

“I suppose.” I play it off, but to be honest, it was one of my favorite wishes as well.

“So there's nothing you can't grant? No rules?” Viola says.

I shrug. “Sort of. Well, no, I guess there are a few. I can't grant wishes for more wishes. Oh—and I can't make you a mermaid.”

“Um…what?” Viola asks, raising her eyebrows and smiling a little.

“A few years ago I had this master who was a dolphin trainer or whale trainer or something. Anyhow, she wanted me to make her a mermaid.”

“And those Ancients you keep talking about have strict no-mermaid rules?”

“No. But I can't change what a person
is
. Just
how
they are, if that makes sense.”

“Oh. Was she sad when you couldn't do it?”

“My master?” I ask in surprise. “I guess so. I think she might have cried. I don't really know…” I trail off, somehow ashamed of the fact that I don't have an answer to Viola's question.

She smiles at me, and her eyes are full of a kind of sweet sadness as she lets her hair fall in front of her face. It traps me for just a second, and I almost miss the wish that passes through her gaze. I can't quite make the wish out—it's something deep, something she hasn't told me—something I get the feeling she hasn't told anybody. How can I not see it in her?

“What is it?” I ask. I'm usually so good at reading mortals…

Viola presses her lips together and avoids my eyes. “I don't
have wishes like that. I mean, I know what I want to wish for—to belong somewhere, to something, with someone. But I want to belong only so I can…feel complete again, instead of broken apart from losing Lawrence—”

“He's still your friend, you didn't lose—”

“Yes,” she cuts me off. “I did. I didn't lose
him
, really, but…I lost something. Some part of me broke when I realized I wasn't loved anymore, that I couldn't love
him
like before. But I can't just make a wish to feel complete again—you said it won't last, that wishing to be happy never lasts. So the thing that would make me feel complete is belonging instead of feeling invisible, but I don't want to wish to belong. I can't be that pathetic, that I have to wish for something like that.” Her voice gets smaller. “I just don't know.”

I laugh. I don't mean to, but I can't help it—no wonder I can't read the wish in her. It isn't a real wish.

Viola's eyes flash angrily. “I'm glad you think it's funny.”

I chuckle again. “Well, it's just that it's impossible to be a broken or whole person. You can only be a
person
. You can only exist, you can only belong to yourself, and you can only
be responsible for your own happiness or belonging or whatever. That broken-part-piece-whole thing is just a trick of the mortal mind. Three wishes won't make you feel any more whole than you already do. At least not for long.”

I expect her to shoot back a reply and tell me off like she tends to. But instead, her eyes graze the ground, watery and rimmed in something between hurt and shame. She turns back to her paper.

I cringe.

She's just a mortal. I shouldn't feel guilty over a mortal. It's her own fault she has a fake wish. But several silent moments pass, and my stomach begins to feel knotted.

Fine.

“I wasn't laughing at you,” I mutter.
There. Happy now?

She doesn't look up.

“Don't get mad. I have to hand it to you, you're tough—most people would've made the wish to belong by now. I'm just saying that even if you wish for it, you won't feel any different unless you can find the
thing
that will make you…belong.”

“You don't understand,” she says with an intensity I've never heard before. “You probably just sit around Caliban all day where everyone is perfect and whole and…what do you do all day there anyway? How could I expect you to understand?” She shakes her head at me.

Viola doesn't realize she's given me two direct questions. To be honest, I could avoid answering both; she doesn't really expect answers, so they don't pull at me. Still, I roll my eyes and answer even though I'd rather not—maybe it'll make me feel less guilty.

“Your parents are out for their anniversary?” I ask uncomfortably, turning to stare at the movie.

The question gets Viola's attention. She looks up and nods, while I try to fixate on Keanu as he bends spoons on the television.

This is so embarrassing. Maybe I should've stuck with the guilt.

“Did he get her flowers?” I look over at her. She nods again, and the wish for someone to bring her flowers darts to the front of her eyes. As usual, she doesn't say the wish aloud.
Mortal pride. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, and continue instead. “What kind?”

“Roses. They were on the counter when I got home right before…I called you.”

“What color?” I ask.

“Light pink, I think.”

I look down at my hands as I answer. “Light pink. That's…gentility, admiration, and grace. Unless he meant them as a pastel, because pastel roses are for friendship. And if they were more coral-colored than pink, it was for desire. That's what I ‘do all day' in Caliban. I deliver bouquets for the florist.” I wait to hear her make fun of me—most of the other jinn do.

Instead, several moments of silence pass. I finally raise my head to see Viola staring at me with a puzzled expression.

“You're a flower boy?” she asks. The corners of her mouth twitch in a poorly hidden smile.

“I'm a
bouquet deliverer
—forget it, I shouldn't have said anything!” I growl. This is what you get for having conversations with your master.

“No, don't be mad,” she says, but there are hints of laughter
in her throat—deep laughter, different from the bubbly way she laughs around people at school. Her face sparkles in amusement. “It's not like that. It's just not what I expected you to do. But why a bouquet deliverer? It pays well?”

I put my head in my hand. I should never have tried to explain. She wants an answer, badly, and though I try to ignore her, the questions pull at me until the wave feeling is too much to bear.

“No, it doesn't pay well. It doesn't pay at all, actually—we don't work for money, we work because we like our jobs. I like it because…” I grimace and sigh. “Jinn don't fall in love or attach to one another, like humans do. We're immortal in Caliban, so falling in love for an eternity is just…unrealistic. But for that one moment when they're getting flowers, it's like that doesn't matter. It's the only moment where they don't care that the jinn who sent the flowers will be replaced by another lover in a week. It's…different. It's this one instant when someone isn't just another random jinn, but is something special to someone else. So I like being the one who delivers the flowers so I see it, that's all.”

I wait a beat before meeting her eyes, but when I do, her face is no longer twitching in amusement. Instead, her lips are curved in a gentle smile. “That's beautiful,” she says. “Though it sounds sort of lonely.”

I pause. “I've never really thought of that before. I wouldn't call it lonely. We just aren't…needy. Mortals need to attach because you have sadness and desires and a limited time to live. We don't have that there….” I trail off, unsure if I'm making any sense.

Viola nods. “So do you send flowers to anyone?”

“No, actually,” I say, surprising myself—I haven't thought of sending flowers in ages. “Female jinn are a little self-obsessed and…uh…grabby. I haven't dated in years.”

“But you're so charming!” she replies. I raise an eyebrow, then catch the sarcastic glimmer in her grin.

It's hard not to laugh when her eyes are sparkling with amusement at her own joke. “Yeah, yeah. It's different there, though. We aren't chained to one another like everyone here is. You have yourself, your own identity. So long as you know who you are, you can be happy, so there's really no need to
date—unless you're bored.”

Viola chews on her pen cap through a wry grin. “Yeah. Or maybe you just can't get a date.”

I sigh, but smile. “Okay, fine. You could wish for flowers, you know.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“How about flowers
and
chocolate?”

“Nope.”

“Who doesn't like chocolate? A heart-shaped box of candy would make anyone feel whole,” I say.